The Chipped Plate
by bi-princessoftheark
Summary: Everyone has secrets and memories they would rather not confront. Some of them can be dark and twisted. Some of them can belong to nice, mild-mannered college girls. (This is my second story and is disconnected from every possible fandom ever. Please be nice and reviews are always welcome!)


"You're coming soon though, right?" I ask into the phone balanced on the crook of my neck, my hands full of utensils I'm carefully sorting into drawers.

"Of course. I'll be there at 5." My roommate responds back.

I put the last fork in the drawer, slam it shut, and shift the phone to my right ear. "That's an hour away. Not soon. Don't you dare make me unpack everything by myself. You will regret it." I threaten, although we both know that I'll unpack everything everyway.

I move into the kitchen, locating the plate box. I begin loading the plates into the cabinet. My mom packed some of these, so it's interesting to see what memories are associated with them. I recognize some of the plates my tiny hands decorate, made years before. After the colorful plates are gone, I see regular plates that my mom must have spared for me.

I pick up a plate, and then stop. I can almost feel my eyes widening, in what I know is fear. I must look like a character in a comic, eyes bugging out of my head, face drained of color. Why would she pack this? I thought we threw it away after...

The plate is nothing to look at. It's a simple white plate with thin, gold edging. There's a sizable chip on the edge of the plate, from when I… oh God. From when I killed him.

* * *

" _Mom! I'll be fine! It's not my first time home alone, and it certainly won't be the last." I say into the phone._

" _But it's for 2 days." She answers._

" _And you've been calling practically every hour. Enjoy the party, Mom."_

" _Okay. But remember to-" I cut her off._

" _Check the locks on the doors and windows, pull the blinds, and don't answer the door unless it's you, dad, or Aunt Clare. Don't tell anyone I'm alone, and call you when I wake up and before I go to sleep. I know, Mom. We've been over this several times now. Besides, I'm 15 now. Practically an adult."_

" _Ha! Funny joke, sweetie." I roll my eyes. "Just remember that we love you."_

" _I love you guys, too. Goodnight." I hang up, and put the phone back in the cradle._

 _An hour later, I'm sitting on the couch, watching Netflix on my laptop and balancing sugar cookies in my hands. "Screw it." I pause the show, and carefully walk to the kitchen, dumping the cookies on a plate. I carry it back to my position on the couch. I plop down, start my show, and hold the plate of cookies on my lap. "Much better." I smirk, and bite into another cookie._

 _I'm about 2 episodes away from the season finale when my laptop dies. "Are you serious?" I ask it. I hit it a couple times, just to be sure, but it is, in fact, out of battery. I sigh, and glance at the empty plate sitting next to me on the couch. Pushing my laptop to the side, I grab the plate and place it in the sink. I run upstairs to my room to grab my headphones. They're sitting there on my bed right next to the open window. Of course. My mom is so irresponsible sometimes, she can't even close a window that she was cleaning earlier. What did she think, air-drying it was better? Now it's dirty again. Great._

 _I sit on the bed, observing the night sky. There are clouds everywhere, and based on how humid the air is, it appears as if it is about to rain. I close the window, grab my headphones, and hop off the bed, and run down the stairs. I may as well load the dishwasher. Maybe being extra responsible will make my parents feel comfortable with going away for long periods of time. And they'll stop calling every hour to make sure I'm not dead. One can hope._

 _I grab the speaker system and put some music on from my phone. If I'm going to clean, I am going to have fun doing it. Putting on music from the Broadway show 'Hamilton', I go to work. The familiar singing of the cast puts me immediately at ease, and I find myself humming along. The rain that starts adds a nice edge, a soft background noise that fills the gaps in between songs. For once, I feel comfortable alone, without the endless droning of my parents and friends. This is nice._

 _And then of course it all goes to hell. With a giant Boom! the house goes dark. Shit. A power outage. My hands tighten on the plate I was about to put in the dishwasher. Where the hell do my parents keep the flashlights? I set the plate on the edge of the counter and blindly stumble my way across the room to the utility closet. Hopefully they're in there. Scrambling with the handle, I somehow manage to open the door and sift my way through cleaning supplies and junk long enough to find a small flashlight. Sighing with relief, I click it on. And discover it's almost dead._

" _Shit!" Only this could happen to me. I navigate myself back to the kitchen, where my phone is still resting in the speaker jack facing the window. I'm almost there when I freeze. The house across the streets has it's lights on._

 _I lurch for the lightswitch, but the power does not work. But there's nothing to be scared of, right? "I told Mom and Dad we should've gotten a generator," I ramble to myself, suddenly aware of how quiet it is in the house. "I told them, and I told them, but did they listen? No. And now I get to sit in the dark while the Whites get all the power they want…" My monologue quickly breaks off as I see the rest of the houses all have their lights on too. All of them. Every single house but mine._

 _Shit. No no no no no. This is not happening. This couldn't be happening. Not to me. Not now. Not now when I am home alone and help is 2 states away and there's no power and oh my god that window in my room was open. Oh my god there's someone in my house._

 _I swallow the approaching panic and force myself to be logical. Okay. There's someone in the house. But how can I fix that? The phones don't work. My phone is 3 feet ahead of me. The door is 5 feet to my left. 3 feet there, 3 feet back, 5 feet to the door, and then I run like hell. 11 feet in total until freedom. Just 11 feet. I can do this._

 _I lunge forward, snagging my phone out of the jack and practically sprint for the door. But the door won't open. The deadlock is in place. "Shit!" A strangled scream comes out of my throat. Where the hell are the keys?_

 _A soft jingling interrupts my thought process. The keys. I thoughtlessly drop the flashlight in shock. "Looking for these?" A rough, low voice mockingly asks. I press a hand to my mouth, struggling to keep in a scream._

" _Oh c'mon girl. Don't be shy. Turn around. We could have a lot of fun, y'know." There is a strange man in my house. He has cut the power, cut the phone lines, locked me in. I am trapped and he knows it. Oh god he planned it. The one weekend my parents leave, the rainstorm so it appeared normal the power went out. Holy shit._

" _I said come here little girl. I need to have some fun." The voice goes from mocking to cold, a dangerous edge taking over the sing-song speech pattern he used before. I stay frozen, silently attempting to unlock my phone to call 911._

 _The keys slam onto the counter, and his footsteps stomp towards me. I'm shaking in fear, but I continue to dial. Right before he gets me, I press 'Call' and shove the phone in my sweatshirt pocket. He roughly grabs my arms and pulls them behind my back, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His hot breath scorches my neck as he whispers, "I said come here. You do as I say."_

 _Still pinning my hands behind my back, he holds my wrists in one hand and uses the other to stroke my chest and thighs. "Doesn't this feel good little girl?" He mumbles into my neck. "Doesn't it? Oh you've never had a man before, have you? Don't worry, I'll show you what it's like. We're gonna have a lot of fun."_

 _I visibly shudder. He starts dragging me backwards toward the stairs. Oh god. Towards the bedroom. This can't be happening. But as his grip tightens and he mutters "Move your feet little girl this isn't your wedding night I'm not carrying you" the situation becomes real. And I react._

 _I slam my head back into his head, hearing a satisfying crack. "Aw shit!" he yells, rearing back and moving his hands to cradle his nose. I fall forward, trying to run through the kitchen, half falling over. I have to get out of here. I hear him coming behind me and I grab at the first thing I see. The plate I left on the counter. Mustering all my strength, I whirl and slam it against his forehead. He stumbles, dazed, so I hit him again. This time he falls, slamming his head first on the granite counter, and then again on the hard floor. He does not get up._

 _I set the plate back on the counter, my movements calm and mechanical. Still staring at the man's unmoving chest, I reach into my pocket. The line is still open. I raise my phone to my ear._

" _Miss? Miss are you alright? What's happening? A unit is being sent to your house right now, just tell me if everything is okay." The responder is an old woman. "Miss?"_

 _I take a breath, feeling it catch in my throat. I want to throw up. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to run. I open my mouth. "Hello," I start, my voice strangely breathy. "I think I just killed someone."_

 _The next few hours pass in a blur. I'm sitting in the back of the ambulance, a neon orange blanket draped around my shoulders. The paramedic is on one side of me, taking my blood pressure. My mom is on the other side, holding my hands and trying to get a reaction from me. My dad is kneeling next to my mom, holding her other hand. They want me to talk. What can I tell them?_

 _I just killed a man. I am a murderer. Oh, they'll rule it as self defense, because that's what it was. It was self defense. Self defense. I just killed someone. I am a killer, a monster, the people your parents warn you about. I want to scream until my throat burns. Instead, I just there, listening to my mother pleading and staring at the puddle in the road reflecting the reds, blues, and whites of the various police cars and ambulance around my house._

 _I killed a man. I am a murderer._

* * *

My roommate walks into our apartment to find me kneeling in the kitchen, the plate scattered in pieces around me. Blood drips from my hands to the floor, creating a small puddle. I broke the plate with my hands. She drops her bags to the floor and stands there, unsure how to help. I lift up my head.

"Hi."


End file.
